by Terry Brooks
It quickly seemed as if that would be enough. The demonkind resisted only briefly before falling back—a steady, if grudging, retreat that required the warships to remain in place and continue to fire on them as the Elven Hunters driven back earlier slowly began to reclaim lost ground.
But at this juncture, the main body of the Straken Lord’s army attacked the pass. Armored giants and thousands of Goblins swarmed through the staggered clusters of obstacles created to slow them as if they weren’t even there. Dozens died or were injured in the effort, but the rest kept coming. The Elves met them just inside the pass, solid walls of spearmen crouched behind shields while Elven longbows rained arrows from perches higher up. For a time, it seemed the defensive lines would hold. But the enemy forces were too strong, their numbers too great, and eventually the lines began to sag.
At that point, Sian Aresh sent another two warships to buttress their efforts, the great ships-of-the-line sliding down the length of the valley and settling in to either side of the enemy, which had pushed the defenders all the way out of the pass. Using rail slings and fire launchers, the airships struck back at the demonkind, shattering the front ranks of their assault and forcing the rest back into the shelter of the pass.
The battle was joined, attackers and defenders locked in combat within the east pass and atop the valley rims to either side, when the dragon reappeared.
It swept down out of nowhere, swift and agile, eluding the charges fired from hastily redirected weapons aboard the airships facing the pass, snaking back around behind them. Sitting astride the great beast, the armored black form of the Straken Lord howled in glee.
Seconds later, fire exploded from the dragon’s widespread maw and sent the light sheaths, masts, and decking of both airships up in flames.
Seersha couldn’t save them. She was already running back across the rim of the bluff, having sighted the dragon moments earlier and knowing at once what it intended. But she wasn’t fast enough. She got there just after the ships went crashing earthward, decks and light sheaths afire. The Elves who were still able to do so were sliding down or leaping over the sides before they were consumed. Without pausing to consider whether it was wise or reasonable or even sane to do so, she attacked. Sweeping aside her black robes, she extended her tattooed arms, assumed her battle stance, and sent lines of magic hammering into the huge beast. Because it wasn’t looking at her, it wasn’t prepared. Confident that the worst of its enemies had been disabled, it was hovering midair, waiting for the ships defending the flanks of the Elven army along the valley rim to turn toward it.
But Seersha got to it first, and her blows knocked it sideways with such force that the Straken Lord almost lost his seat, and for a moment it appeared that the dragon would go down. It staggered wildly in mid-flight, its wings beating frantically to keep it aloft as it swung about to track the source of this unexpected assault. It spotted the Druid, the residue of her magic rising like steam into the air, and, banking sharply to avoid another strike, it began to climb skyward to mount a counterattack. Everyone surrounding Seersha had gone to ground, leaving her alone and exposed atop the valley rim. Even Sian Aresh had dropped away, although she hadn’t seen him go. But that was the way she preferred it. No one could help her now, in any case. She would have to face what was coming alone.
She didn’t have long to wait. Screaming in fury, the dragon dropped toward her like a stone, banking sharply left and right to confuse her. She struck out at it anyway but her strikes went wide each time, and then the dragon was on her. It tore into the earth as it tried to crush her, claws extended, ripping out great gouts of earth and rock as the Straken Lord urged it on.
But Seersha was already gone. Using magic, she slipped the attack like a ghost, momentarily disappearing until she was suddenly twenty feet away. The dragon swung about, but she had its measure now and her magic slammed into it once more, singeing its scaly body, burning away whole sections of armor.
Then the Straken Lord’s scepter came down, pointed toward her, and something hard and brutal caught hold of her, picked her up, and almost threw her off the clifftop. She only just managed to save herself by clutching at clumps of scrub grass as she was tumbling over the edge.
Seersha had lost all perspective. She was in full battle mode as she leapt back to her feet, her warrior blood and training fueling her response. She lashed out at the Straken Lord, nearly unseating him a second time. But the dragon was using its fire again, and she was forced to throw herself out of the way as the bluff around her went up in flames. The dragon lifted off, still breathing fire, trying to finish her. She fought back frantically, her magic shielding her, dispersing the flames. The dragon banked away, momentarily breaking off the attack, though its fire continued to fill a sky gone dark with smoke and ash.
She waited until it came back around, crouched low to the ground to make herself as small as she could manage, and hardened herself against what she knew the Straken Lord would do to her with that scepter if she carried out her plan.
She hesitated to be certain of her target as the dragon swung toward her, then lashed out with every particle of magic she could muster and struck the beast right in its closest eye.
The dragon roared in pain and fury, whipping its head from side to side in agony, the eye gone, blood streaming down its face. In the same instant, while all of her concentration was focused on the dragon, the magic of the Straken Lord’s scepter slammed into her, caught her up, and threw her away like a rag doll. It felt as if every bone in her body had been broken. A small portion of her magic had been diverted to protect her from the expected attack, but she knew at once it had not been enough.
She thought she was dead then. She lay where she was, her strength gone, her magic exhausted, fighting to get to her feet and unable to do so. But to her astonishment, no further attack came. The dragon was bucking and thrashing through the roiling smoke, unable to do anything to ease its pain, the loss of its eye so damaging that it could not, for the moment, manage to think of anything else. Though the Straken Lord fought hard to bring the beast under control, the dragon refused to respond.
In the end, Tael Riverine was forced to let the creature fly him back out into the relative safety of the Streleheim so that it could deal with its injury.
Seersha had just enough time to watch it disappear, then Elven Hunters were gathering all around and pulling her to safety.
30
The battle between the Elves and the Jarka Ruus raged on through the remainder of the morning. The armies surged up and down the slopes of the cliffs that warded the Rhenn, and back and forth through its eastern pass. At times, it seemed the attackers had gained the advantage they needed to force their way inside the valley, but each time the Elves fought back with such ferocity and determination that the advantage quickly disappeared. Though the creatures from the Forbidding fought on with a furious intensity, it was clear they were adversely impacted by the failure of the Straken Lord and his dragon to return to the battle and lacked the means to counter the damage inflicted by the Elven warships, which were now safely in control of the skies. While they were able to maintain overwhelming numbers on the ground and, under different circumstances, would likely have overrun the Elven defensive positions and claimed both the east pass and the valley before the day was out, they had no real means of protecting themselves from—or fighting back against—their adversary’s airships.
Even so, the damage to the Elven troops was severe enough that Sian Aresh was forced to bring additional reserves forward from the western pass to buttress those fighting in the east. Seersha, too damaged to return to the battle herself, saw some of this from the care station at the western end of the valley as Elven Healers worked to bind her cracked ribs and stop the blood flow from multiple wounds. Salves were applied to ease the pain and provide the beginnings of a healing for her burns. Because she lacked Aphenglow’s skills in this area, she gave herself over to her caregivers and their experience. Oral medications were pro
vided as soon as it was determined where the interior damage had been done, and soon after she became drowsy and fell asleep.
When she woke, she was lying in a bed inside a plain, nondescript room with several other injured, and she could hear the sound of raindrops spattering against the windows from outside. She lay where she was for a time, working hard to come awake, still groggy and weak and trying to determine what had happened to her after the battle with the Straken Lord. Eventually, she regained enough presence of mind to realize she was back in Arborlon and must have been brought there at some point following field treatment for her injuries.
Once she felt ready enough, she forced herself into a sitting position and then out of bed and onto her feet. She hurt everywhere, and the effort would have been too much for a less determined person. But she could not abide not knowing how things stood, and so she gritted her teeth against her agony and weakness, dressed herself in the singed and bloodied clothes that had been removed and placed on a chair, strapped on the weapons that lay on the floor next to them, and stumbled from the room into the corridor beyond.
She was somewhat strengthened by a self-administered infusion of Druid magic meant to deaden pain and accelerate healing—a basic tool of any Druid, though not one she was especially proficient with. But it lent a certain steadiness as she moved down the corridor, taking her time, peering into rooms filled with injured men and women who had been brought back from the battle, treated, and then bedded down under care from Healers and their assistants. She paused a few times to take in the numbers and watch the efforts of the caregivers before continuing on. No one tried to stop her. No one paid her any attention at all. Everyone was too busy with the needs of other patients to worry about one who was upright and wandering about in a functional condition.
Eventually she reached an area at the front of the building where a handful of Elven Hunters engaged in transporting the injured back from the Valley of Rhenn were taking a short break before heading out again. Normally, there wouldn’t have been time for this effort in the midst of a battle, and it made her wonder anew what had happened in the valley since she had been returned to Arborlon.
She approached a grizzled veteran she recognized from the training field who was standing by the doorway and peering out into the rain. The day—or what was left of it—was dark and gloomy, and the rainfall on the other side of the walls a steady downpour.
The Elf glanced at her and immediately straightened. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be up. In fact, you should be dead.”
“I’m hard to kill,” she answered.
“So it appears. But would you mind not testing that theory? I’m one of those unfortunates who had to haul you back here. You were not in such good condition.”
She nodded. “Thanks for your efforts. Can you tell me how things stand out there?”
He shrugged. “The fighting’s stopped for the moment, and both sides are pretty much right where they were at dawn. We almost lost the pass a few times, but the warships got the best of those things trying to force their way into the valley. Ugly stuff.”
“I imagine so. Did the dragon come back?”
“Not that I saw. You did some real damage. I don’t know that it can return now.”
She nodded. Would the Jarka Ruus attack again after dark? All this rain would make it hard to sustain watch fires, and there would be no moon or stars to provide light otherwise. It would be a perfect opportunity.
“I need to get back to the valley,” she said. “Can you find me a flit?”
“And risk the captain finding out I helped a madwoman kill herself? Not hardly. Besides, nothing is flying in this stuff. We have to wait for it to clear. All of us, I might add, which includes you. Get back in bed. Sleep some more.”
“I’m all slept out,” she said, glancing around.
“Then pretend. Captain said to take good care of you when he sent you back here. He said we’re going to need you healthy enough to come back strong by morning. Maybe sooner”
She took a deep breath and exhaled. “All right. Come wake me if there’s any news. If anything happens. A night attack, especially.”
He nodded and looked away, studying the rainfall, not saying any more. He wouldn’t do a single thing to wake her unless the enemy was right outside the door, she thought. He probably had orders from Aresh to that effect. Maybe all of them did. She turned away and, ignoring the old veteran’s suggestion about going back to bed, went back down the hallway to a side door and slipped out into the rain.
From there, she slogged her way over to the Home Guard barracks and tried to find Aresh. She didn’t expect she would, but wanted to try. She was told he was back from the valley, but had gone over to the palace to see how Phaedon Elessedil was doing. Apparently, both the King and Ellich Elessedil were being kept there—a concession to their status as members of the royal family—until further disposition could be made regarding their respective situations.
She paused to decide whether she was wasting her time wandering about like this and should just go back to bed as the old veteran had advised. Then she shrugged off the idea, departed the barracks, and headed down the roadway for the palace, head bent and shoulders hunched against the rain. In the storm and darkness, no one was about. With good reason, she thought. Even wearing a cloak for protection, she was soon soaked through. Her body was beginning to ache and her wounds to throb in spite of the bandages and salves. She shouldn’t be out like this, but she couldn’t make herself go back and lie around in a sickbed doing nothing. If she couldn’t get back to the valley, she could at least walk over to the palace and have a conversation with Aresh.
When she reached her destination, she was met by Home Guards who recognized her and took her inside. She was told that Aresh was in the building visiting the prisoners, but that she must remain where she was until he returned. She knew neither of them personally, and so her efforts at persuading them to make an exception were ignored. They did take her into a private room so she could change out of her drenched clothes and into a set of ill-fitting spares scrounged from a trunk, remarking on her damaged condition and mentioning they had heard all about her battle with the dragon. They told her she was an inspiration and added they were sorry they couldn’t do more to grant her request.
She smiled and said she understood.
Ten minutes later, dressed in dry clothes and in possession of an all-weather cloak, she walked past them down the hallway and into the depths of the building. Neither guard cast even a single look in her direction.
Druid magic had its advantages.
She had no clear idea where she was going, and she ended up wandering about for a time until she found a guard who had befriended her on the practice field standing watch at a closed door.
“No one is allowed back here without permission,” he said, blocking her way. “Do you have a pass?”
“No,” she answered. “I was sent to find Sian Aresh to give him a message from the Elven defensive front in the valley. I need to see him.”
He considered a moment. “I heard about the dragon. That was good work.” Then he shrugged. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t be allowed to speak to the captain. He’s with the King, in his bedroom. Down the hall, around the corner left, then first left again. Big, double doors. Another guard on duty.” He gestured to the closed door behind him. “Ellich is in here.” He shook his head in disgust. “A good man, Ellich. I do my duty, but I don’t mind telling you I think this whole business is a travesty. He would never harm his brother. Everyone knows that. There’s something wrong here.”
“Agreed,” Seersha said. She bent close, lowering her voice. “Someone else is to blame for Emperowen’s murder. Any clue as to who it might be?”
The guard shook his head, lips tightening into a frown. “None. But I wouldn’t have, would I? I’m just a soldier serving out my time in the Elven Home Guard. I don’t know these people well enough to be able to guess at either the names or the number of their
enemies.”
She nodded. “Well, things will get sorted out. So Aresh is down the hall in the King’s room?”
“Left here just ten, fifteen minutes ago. He was in here with Ellich before that. And Jera. She’s an odd one. She’s not been to see her husband once until today. Then shows up, visits until Aresh comes, and then insists on seeing her nephew. They argued about it. I could hear them through the door. Finally, he gives in.”
Seersha stared. “She wanted to see Phaedon?”
“She said she did. Aresh didn’t like it, though.”
Seersha went still. “Give me those directions again.”
She left without seeming to be in a rush, but once she was out of sight she picked up her pace until she was almost running. She didn’t know what was troubling her exactly. Perhaps it was the idea of Jera visiting her nephew. Perhaps it was hearing that Jera had not come to visit Ellich until tonight. Especially that. It did not sound at all like the woman Aphenglow had described on repeated occasions—a wife whose entire life had been built around caring for her husband.
She reached the next corner and came around it in a rush. She saw the double doors immediately, but there was no guard on duty. She slowed, quieting her approach, her instincts telling her she should be cautious until she knew the lay of the land. She couldn’t imagine what might be happening, but she didn’t like what she was thinking.
She came up to the doors and stopped in front of them, listening. She could hear voices, low and indistinct. Or maybe it was only one voice. There was crying, too. A kind of low sobbing that had hints of despair and exhaustion. She listened for Sian Aresh, but didn’t hear him.
She almost knocked. But in the end she simply opened the door and stepped inside.
Next to the bed, a single smokeless lamp burned on a nightstand. In the faint splash of illumination it cast, she could see everything.
